Drunk in Love
by Fallen Ark Angel
Summary: Steph gets a bit...different, when she's intoxicated. Which she just had to be, at least one night, on her honeymoon. - One-shot.


"I just, like, I love you. You know? Like so much."

"I know."

"Like so super much. I- Bleh." A long pause. "Where are we going?"

"Back to our room," Paul said simply, most of his energy at the moment going to keeping the woman on his arm upright. "For the night."

"But _why?"_ And she was whining too, Steph was, as she stumbled along with the man. "I was having so much fun."

"You were not. You were about to go off on that guy back there."

"What guy? I loved that guy. We were just talking."

"You were. We both were. Before you suddenly got all pissy at him."

"Well," she said in a rather drawn out way as she got a bit tripped up, on her feet. Paul was supporting her though and saved her from landing on her face. After gathering herself, Steph said, "He was a jerk."

"You just said you loved him."

"No. I love _you_." Giggling at the clearly misunderstanding (which was totally on her part, Paul would have pointed out, had she asked), the woman reached over with with the arm that wasn't wrapped around his shoulders and poked at his cheek. "My handsome man, you. My-" And she hiccuped, just a bit, before saying, "-husband."

Yep. Paul was the very proud owner of his very own drunk.

He just hoped she didn't puke on him…

"Oh my God!" Suddenly, she stopped allowing herself to be tugged along and came to such a quick stop that Paul wasn't sure how she either didn't fall right over or he didn't accidentally knock her over, as he had continued walking. She was holding up her right hand to her face, dropping her other arm from around him as she said loudly (far too loudly, he might add, for the middle of a resort, honeymoon or not). "What happened to my ring?"

Paul stopped too, giving her a second to figure out her problem first before, gently, reaching over to grab her left hand and hold it up to her face. "Right here, babe."

"Oh." More giggles. Stares of admiration of her wedding band and engagement ring. Then, grinning at him, she said, "You wanna go back to the bar?"

"No." Paul wrapped an arm around her once more and led her back down the hall, towards the elevator. "I just told you that we're going back to the room. Remember?"

"Mmmm." For some reason, that time, she was more enticed by the idea. "The _room_."

And she said it suggestively, but at the moment, Paul was feeling less than turned on by the situation.

It had started off quite nice. That night. Like the others three since they'd arrived on the island for their vacation.

Only there was a bit more drinking on Steph's part than usual that night.

Not that that was a bad thing. At all. They were on vacation. A highly coveted one. They rarely got to go out and be completely free. Especially recently, as her position in the company was preparing to take a backseat to the onscreen stuff and place more of a focus on the off.

And even though Paul didn't drink often (his body was a temple, he told her more than once, and you don't fill temple waterways with alcohol; you use the purest of water, to which Steph would argue why he darnk coffee and tea and soda and blah, blah, blah; she could be so annoying), he never had a problem with Steph drinking. She didn't, rather, for the most part by her own volition. If he wasn't then she felt awkward doing so in excess, she claimed.

Which was for the better.

"When we get ta the room, we're gonna _fuck_."

Because Steph wasn't a mean drunk.

"We're gonna fuck so hard."

She was a dumb drunk.

"Something tells me," he sighed at her two statements as they stepped into the thankfully empty elevator, "that you'll spend far more of the nigh with the toilet than you will me."

It wasn't so bad, when Steph just had a glass or two of wine. But when she had more than that or any type of liquor (mainly because she seemed unable to calculate just how many shots were too many; one, in her case, typically), the woman ended up as she was at the moment.

"Why would I do that? When I have the hottest man olive waitin' in bed for me?"

Uncoordinated, loud, rowdy, and always overly horny.

For him only, on the last one.

Which Paul figured had more to do with that she was constantly that way (who wasn't; he was fucking hot) and just able to hide it very well. With some alcohol washing away the facade, she had no defense to her natural attraction to him.

"Olive? You'll live? Or are you saying alive?"

"I'm not sayin' nothin', Paul. Just that we're gonna _fuck_." And she batted at his arm, putting emphasis on just the right word, he was sure, she felt. "Fuck like dogs."

He should have left it alone. But he couldn't help it. The elevator was just too damn slow.

"By which you mean," the man asked, glancing down at his wife, "it'll be all frenzied and shit, that I'll tap you from behind, or that, you know, I'll knot before I nut?"

His words were near gibberish to her for the past hour, but that time, he completely stumped her.

"Wha'?"

With a grin, the man only leaned down to brush a kiss against the woman's hair. "Nothin', babe. I'm just joking."

"You're so funny. And hot. You're so hot, Paul. Like, the most hot guy that ever… That ever."

"Thanks, babe," he said with a forced grin as the elevator doors opened and he began leading her once more. "Your words, they touch me."

"I'mma touch you." Steph, while always turned on to the absolute extreme when drunk, was not the least bit eloquent when in her current state. "I'mma touch you all over. And you're gonna touch me too. Huh?"

"We'll see."

"We will." Then she started that giggling and, thankfully, he managed to get her to their suite with no other problems. Once in there, Steph wanted to go nowhere other than, of course, the bed. She stumbled into it once they got in there, but her stomach seemed strong then as she didn't act the least bit queasy.

Which was good.

Because Paul loved the woman to death.

Hell, he'd just married into the most batshit family in the world for her.

But puke wasn't his strong suit.

"You gonna trip me?"

"Strip you?" he corrected as, after coming over to her side of the bed, the man came to unbutton her shirt. "Is that what you mean?"

"It's what I said."

"Mmmm."

"Strip me. Trip me." Then she started giggling again. He thought at first it was because of the way his hands rubbed against her flesh as more of the buttons came undone, but then she said, "Gonna Triple H me?" More laughter. "Trips me? Hunter?"

"Mmmm."

"Ooh! Your hands are cold, Paul," she complained as he none too gently shoved her shirt down her shoulders once it was completely unbuttoned. Relaxing to his touch, she asked then suggestively, "Want me to warm 'em up"?"

"Mmmm."

"We shoul' fuck on the balcony. You wanna?"

Paul only tossed her shirt to the ground before making her sit up a bit so he could slip off her bra. Stephanie was undeterred by his silence, however, and kept right up.

"Or in the shower. You wanna shower? I- Paul." She wasn't very cooperative when he started tugging her bra straps down her arms, but he ignored her whines until, finally, he was ready to pull her sexy little skirt down.

There.

"Where you goin'?" Steph asked as, with that done, he took a step back to gather up her discarded clothes and put them near her luggage. "Paul? You wanna go shower? Or balcony?"

"Balcony isn't a verb." When he came back over to her, he had something in his hand. "We can't 'go balcony', baby." Then he frowned at her. "And leave your panties on. Stop trying to tug them off."

"I was just- Hey!"

"Hold still." He was shoving one of his shirts over her head. "Steph."

"Wh' are you-"

"I'm getting you ready for bed."

"But why?" she whined as her head poked through the neck hole, her blue eyes bloodshot and a bit teary. "Paul? I thought we were gonna fuck?"

"Nope." He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. "You're gonna go to sleep."

"That's not fair! Come back! Paul," she called as he just as quickly was turning and heading out of the room and towards the bathroom. "Paul."

"I'll be back, baby."

"Maybe I'll just fuck without you then!"

That didn't get him to stop, but he did call over his shoulder, "Actually, Steph, that's exactly what I've been missing this whole day."

She wasn't catching on though. Either that or completely ignoring him. Probably the latter.

"Gonna go find someone else," she said, as if a threat. "To fuck."

Which might have stricken more fear in her new husband, was the woman even able to get out of the bed. But he'd tossed the sheets over her, before he went off to the bathroom, and she was all tangled up in them. She was still fighting the sheets when he came back to her, stripped down to his boxers and a grin.

"Having trouble, princess?"

She only stared. "Paul, I think I'm drunk."

And his grin grew. "Is that what you think, baby?"

"Yeah. That's what I think."

"You did drink quite a bit," he agreed as he came to sit on the bed beside her. "Steph."

"Did I ruin your night?"

"Nah, baby." Relaxing into the pillows, he rested on his side so he could stare at her. "Never ruin nothin'. Now c'mere, huh?" Paul was trying to help her get the blanket and sheets all settled once more. "Gonna get you all ready for bed and then in the morning you and I are gonna-"

"You don't wanna fuck me?"

"Do I? _Do I_?" He forced her to roll onto her side as well, though it was only so he could snuggle her back up to his chest. "Always."

"Then-"

"But not tonight."

That got another whine out of his wife as Paul's still cool hands pushed up the shirt she had on a bit so that he could rub them against her stomach.

"But why?" Steph let out a low whine that time before, suddenly, hiccuping. Then, softly, she asked, "Is it because I'm drunk?"

"No." Bowing his head, he nuzzled his nose into her hair. "Because we don't need to. You just need to sleep this off. Okay? Before you get sick."

"Not gonna get sick."

"I hope not." Paul let out a long, hot breath against her ear, just to see her squirm. "You know, I love everything about you, baby. Except your vomit. I like to believe that whatever goes in you, stays in you."

One of her hands came to rest over his larger one, stilling it against her stomach. "Just wanted to have fun."

"We were having fun. Before you tried to bulldog that guy back there-"

"I did not."

"You might have. Like you were having war flashes or something. Residue from having your father beat you with a metal pipe a week ago, I guess." Laughing softly against her neck, he whispered, "I think I may have been more nervous over you and Vince going at it in the ring than I was on our wedding day. You know that?"

Steph knew nothing. Except, "I'm so hot, Paul."

Purposely ignoring that (mainly because she wasn't; she was just so drunk she believed she was), he said, "Worried about Vince roughing you up too bad, worried about you hurting him on accident or some shit. Then who would have walked you down the aisle? Shane?" He had to slip his hand out from under hers when Stephanie tried to drag it down her tunny and to her waistline. "Might have tried to kidnap you. I don't think he's too keen on having a big brother. It's new for me too. I mean, what if he asks me about girls?"

Stephanie didn't wanna play around then though. Only whined as he rested his hand on her stomach once more, tensing up his arm so that she couldn't try and move his hand again. "Paul-"

"You know what? No. I know what I'll tell him. Just give 'em two words. Suck-"

"Let me suck it."

"Stephanie!" He tried to feign annoyance, but it was hard as she always made him laugh. Always. Even when she was drunk. She was different, when she was, because normal Steph would have blushed like hell after letting something like that slip out (and believe him, it would have slipped out, probably accompanied by a nervous giggle because Steph was still mentally, like, twelve; thirteen at the oldest), but drunk Steph thought she was being seductive. "What did I marry, huh? A whore?" With a tsk and a sigh, he pulled her tighter to him. "You couldn't even get out of bed a minute ago, Steph. You definitely aren't up for, you know, sucking it."

"Can too."

"Mmmm." He'd left the lamp on, by the bed, but shifted then, so that he could reach over and turn it off and leave them in the darkness. Maybe she was like a moth; without the light she'd disappear. Or at least her need to be awake. 'cause he definitely planned on snuggling up with his wife, oh, for as many days on that trip as he could. "Maybe in the morning, huh? Just sleep right now. Alright? I'm tired."

"I'm not."

Which, honestly, he wasn't either, but he knew that things would just be better if she fell asleep. He wasn't sure why he was so convinced this would keep her from vomiting (because, honestly, there was just some in her future; she drank so rarely that there was no way the amount she'd put back wouldn't lead to this), but was hoping that when the sick phase hit her, if she was conked out, they could just skip it all together.

There was once, not long after he'd come back to the ring from his quad injury, when he and Steph went out in some stupid town (he couldn't recall which) and she was feeling all good about something and got completely wasted. He'd seen her drunk before, but that night was horrible. She was arguing with everyone, even him, and was all upset and crying on the way back to the hotel.

And she skipped the horny phase too! The only point in letting her drink!

So Paul was mostly thankful they hadn't gotten that far, as they laid there, in that bed, him trying to breathe softly, as if to relax her and get her to do so herself.

It worked to some extent, but what had more of an effect was just talking to her.

Steph was such a kid.

"I'mma hate when we get back to work. Home. Whatever. Both, I guess," he said at one point when, after about twenty minutes of lying around in the dark, Steph had finally taken to just letting him run his fingers over her stomach without any struggle over where she really wanted them stroking.

"Why?" she mumbled with what he hoped was a hint of a yawn. "Paul?"

"'cause I like being with you more. Just with you."

"Do not."

"Do so."

"You like," she started and had to stop, to take a deep breath, and he shut his eyes tightly, praying she didn't spring up to make it to the bathroom (or worse; not even try and just puke in their bed; grounds for an annulment, he felt), but eventually she was able to finish with, "work."

Holding off on a sigh of relief, he only agreed softly, "I like it a lot."

"You love it."

"To hell and back."

"Then-"

"But I'd rather be with you. I didn't marry wrestling, did I?"

Yawning, Stephanie said, "You married me, Paul."

"That's what I'm sayin'." He kissed her shoulder, glad that their conversation was becoming more lax and definitely had nothing to do with fucking. "Silly."

Suddenly, the hand that had been resting over his hand came up to curl around her head and rest on the back of his, trying to drag it down to her shoulder once more.

"Let's make a baby."

Paul blinked. "Steph-"

"We should fuck until we make a baby."

Apparently she wasn't winding down.

Nuzzling his head against her shoulder, Paul whispered, "You're not going to believe any of this in the morning, you know. When I tell you this."

"Do you not wanna have a baby?"

"Of course I do. Just not now." He patted her stomach. "We're gonna be married for a bit first. Remember?"

"I'm so hot, Paul."

"We're going to enjoy ourselves," he kept right on up. "And in a few years, we'll talk about it. You don't wanna miss out on the marital bliss, you know, before-"

"Your voice is irritatin'."

Frowning then, he said, "You know, I'm about this close to shoving your pretty little face in that pillow and fucking you to death. They can't even get me for it; you wanted it!"

"God yes."

Still, he just laid there, not doing much other than continuing to rub her stomach for her. "My poor little drunk wife. If this is an omen for things to come, I'm gonna look into those annulment rules. Because you definitely didn't reveal to me what an alcoholic you were before now."

"I want, like, your...body. Like so bad."

"Man, I should record this," he mused, more to himself. "Play all this back. Next time you're not feeling it or whatever."

"I've never said that."

"Not very often," he agreed. "But it has come out of your mouth before, sure."

"Feelin' it now. And you're not."

Ignoring that, he said, "I'mma get up in the morning and wanna do shit and you're gonna be in bed all day. Or hungover. As in hung over the toilet."

Steph tried to snort, but it came out wrong and almost made Paul laugh.

Almost.

"I never throw up, Paul."

"Ever?"

"Ever."

Which would have been funny, about two hours later, when she found herself doing just that, if Steph hadn't shifted into her final form; the weeping drunk.

It wasn't pretty.

She was an emotional person at heart and, when she started to feel sick, truly sick, she always got a bit upset. The alcohol in her system just pushed that to an unbearable level.

Paul sat up with her for most of it (she made it pretty impossible not to), making faces and comments as the bathroom became her home for the night. Vomit disgusted him. Seeing his woman vomit made him wanna vomit. Steph had the flu, once, when they first moved in together, and he probably spent more time gagging at the nasty snotty tissues she left lying around than he did caring for her. And when she'd sniffle up all that snot in her nose; bleh. Paul wasn't shallow in his relationship with Steph, not by a long shot, he loved her for a variety of reasons that had nothing to do with how striking she was to, but at the same time… Bodily functions were just not something he was prepared for.

And don't even get him started on that time she had a stomach virus…

Of course, on the flip side of things, when Paul was sick and in need, he expected her to be there. Rubbing his stomach, making him soup, cleaning up when he missed the toilet or trashcan. Oh, and definitely to make him feel better about himself.

He just...couldn't give that back.

Not well, at least.

Because he did sit in there with her a lot of the time. Brought her water. Wiped off her face with a cool rag. Listened to her sob to him about how horrible she was, because she got so drunk, on one of their honeymoon days, and now she was sick, so really, she wouldn't even blame him, if he just went out the next day and had a great time without her because she was a big idiot.

He didn't necessarily disagree with anything she said, but only patted her on the back a bunch and made her suck on tons of mints from her purse.

Because, sheesh, liquor smells so much worse coming back up.

So much worse.

The sky was lightening when he finally was able to fall into bed, his wife next to him, on her side, so that she didn't choke on her own vomit or something like that. Actually, as he was drifting off, Paul was beginning to wonder if Steph had drank way too much and had actually needed her stomach pumped or something and he was just so dense on those sorts of things that he didn't realize it. But the damage was done already anyways and she seemed okay.

By which he meant that she was breathing.

And was there honestly anything else that needed to be said?

Probably, but he was too tired to care.

Steph wasn't concious again, truly, until ten that morning when Paul forced her to be.

"You are breathing, aren't you? Steph? Stephanie? St-"

"Poke me again," came out such a low growl that Paul jumped back from where he was, leaning over her bedside, "and I will bite your finger off."

"Duly noted." Still, he continued to bend over, staring at the woman. "Are you okay?"

"No." That came out less as a growl and more as a moan. "I'm not."

"Great! Then get up. I snagged you some breakfast and now it's time for us to go-"

"Shut up, Paul. Go away." She had her face buried in her own pillow and, reaching over, grabbed his from his side of the bed to toss over the back of her head as well. "Let me die."

"Is that what you're trying to do?"

"Yes."

"You're such a wimp."

"You don't get it."

"Don't get it?" He flicked her head. Gently, of course, but Steph was considering divorce regardless. "You don't think I've been hungover before?"

"No."

Another flick. That time, he got her head to pop up, just to give him a glare, the pillow that had been resting over the back of her head tumbling down to her back. He grinned though, at the red eyes his wife was sporting, not clashing at all with her equally as rosey face. She looked horrible and he kind of wanted to rib her for it, but he also kind of didn't want to have to head back to Connecticut alone, so…

"You," he said through his cheesy smile, "should stay away from liquor, baby. Doesn't mesh with your, well, anything of yours."

"Stop picking on me." With a groan, her head fell once more into the pillow and a hand moved to toss the other back over her head. "I don't feel good. Just...go away."

"But I brought you food-"

"I don't want it."

"If you don't eat something, Steph, your not going to like it next time you start heaving."

"Right, so let me eat so I have something to puke back up."

"Exactly."

"Go away." His head was close enough that she hardly had to reach out when she shoved it away. "There has to be something you wanna do other than bother me."

"Nope." Paul did step away though and leave her there on the bed. He knew it wouldn't be long before she tossed that pillow at his face and, though it would be easy to catch, he'd really hate to have to throw it back at her.

Because he would, without a doubt, have to throw it back at her.

The fighter in him just wouldn't allow him to not.

"It's my honeymoon." Going over to the dresser, he grabbed the tray of food he'd sat up there off it. "Wanna be with my wife. Here. Went all the way down to get you this. Pancakes with tons of syrup and-"

"Don't make me barf again. Please."

"You need to shove some of this down your stomach first. Have something to actually barf up."

"What is your obsession with me eating?"

"I want you to get better, dummy."

"Just let me-"

"I'm about to smother you to death and really let you die, so knock it off."

"You make a horrible husband."

He grinned at that, taking the tray with him over to the bed. Sitting on the edge of it, he glanced down at her. "You can tell already?"

"You definitely should have just stayed a fling."

Nodding, he said, "And I never planned on marrying an alcoholic. Much less a nympho."

"A what?"

Paul was digging into what he'd claimed to be her breakfast then. "Nympho."

She only groaned then, when she realized what the word was. Less because she knew what he was talking about (she didn't) and more because she didn't care at all (her pounding head wouldn't let her). She just wanted him to shut up.

"Yep," the man kept on, just to annoy her. "Were all over me last night. Trying to get in my pants. Blow me. Hell, you even threatened to go out and fuck the first guy you saw."

That got her. Grumbling against the pillow, Steph said, "I did not."

"Did so." With a nod, Paul said, "You get so horny when you're drunk. But me? An upstanding gentleman? Did I even so much as fondle a breast?"

"Go away."

"No." He shook his head as he took a bite of pancake. "Did I think about it? You bet. Especially when you basically begged me to let you get down on your knees and-"

"'boutta kick you."

"Mainly," he continued, "because a drunk down on their knees is only good in front of a toilet. Which you were, not soon after, but-"

"Leave me alone."

She sounded so pitiful.

Paul loved it.

"I think I even heard something about you eating my ass, but-"

"There is no way I would ever get that drunk." Steph lifted her head again, the pillow tumbling down once more. "Ever. Without soon going comatose."

"You do have an odd fascination with my ass," he said. "You have to admit that. Need I remind you of early this year when you, on live TV, bent over and kissed it?"

"Slapped it."

"I remember a kiss."

"Kissing you in general is kissing an ass."

"You sure are coherent to be hungover," he grumbled as she seemed to be turning the tables on him. "Nympho."

"You're such a liar."

"Am not." Then he glanced down at the try once more. "Well, other than this food was never for you."

"Mmmm."

"This toast was. But not the rest."

"I don't want that either."

"Horrible wife. Unappreciative." Continuing to eat, he asked, "For real this time; do you know the rules on annulment?"

"Why? I'm the one with all the money. You should want a divorce. Clean me out."

"Would make me feel like less than a man."

"But a richer half man."

"Hn." Standing, he went to set the tray back down on the dresser, saying, "I'll leave the rest of this for you to eat."

"I'm never eating again."

And when he came back to her, it was to stroke at some of her hair and mumble in her ear, "I'mma go find you some aspirin, huh? Need anything else? Other than another mint?" But she was too tired to shove him that time and Paul only pressed a kiss to her head before heading out. And, after returning with the aspirin, leaving completely for a bit.

He was pretty useless in their room and, honestly, he figured Steph would rather be alone.

They didn't _have_ to spend every waking moment together.

Just preferred to, sometimes.

He stayed away from their room for most of the day. It wasn't until about six in the afternoon that he came back, not shocked to find his wife still in the room. The bathroom, to be specific.

"Glad to see you alive," he remarked at the sight of the woman in the sunken tub, the steam still in the room letting him know she'd only just run the bathwater. "Steph."

"Not alive yet. Fully."

"I brought you a drink." Holding up the cup from the restaurant he'd eaten dinner at (something told him Steph wasn't going to wanna go out), he shook it a bit. "Some ice tea."

She only groaned, head lulling to the side to stare over at him. The man had set her drink on the edge of the tub before going to lean up against the counter across from it, staring over at his wife with his arms crossed.

"So what did you spend all day doing?" she asked. Her voice was soft and he wondered if talking too loudly made her head hurt.

Then he had to consider if he wanted to speak in a louder than normal voice, just to bug her.

But then he decided he wasn't a child.

For the moment.

Let her start annoying him and he'd start belting out the lyrics to the growliest songs he knew.

"Oh, you know; went out, picked up women. Fucked them. Honeymoon stuff."

Steph sunk lower in the tub. "Honeymoon stuff."

"Don't get all pissy at me; Hunter did it. Not me."

"Which basically just means that, you, Paul, told other women that you were Triple H-"

"Ha. No." He even snorted. "I'm the most recognizable man on the damn roster. By far the most talented."

"By far."

"I can't walk into the damn lobby without women climbing all over me. What did you want me to do? Break character?"

"It'd be un-McMahon of me."

"Well, you are a Levesque now."

"Not by blood."

"What is blood but thick water?"

"Hey, Paul?"

"Mmmm?

"What'd you really do?"

He only shrugged a bit as she shifted in the tub, the water doing so as well as she moved to grab the cup he'd brought her.

"Went to the beach. Went into town. Missed you."

"Lonely honeymoon stuff."

Again, he shrugged.

"I'm sorry I ruined one of our days, baby." Steph was staring over at him still. "I really didn't mean to get so drunk."

"I know. I shouldda cut you off."

"Yeah, because that would have gone over well." She took a long drink before saying, "It was my fault. I was just having so much fun. And then...then I don't remember."

"You were blinded by your sex drive."

"Don't be gross."

"You don't be gross," he retorted. "After last night, I'm not even sure if you can manage."

"I couldn't have been that bad." Then she paused. "Could I?"

"You could. And were."

"Bleh." She made a face at him. "Sorry."

"And me, the upstanding gentleman that I am, turned you down left and right because it was the right thing to do."

Steph didn't even blink. "And it couldn't have had anything at all to do with the fact we, literally, screwed before we went out that night-"

"Couldn't at all."

"Hmmm."

"I can get it up at all times, Steph. Need I go back to the story of all the women Hunter fucked?"

"I'd rather we didn't, but you seem to enjoy envisioning yourself much worse than you are."

"You were hungover on a day meant to be spent screwing. Turnabout is fair play."

Groaning then, Steph sat her cup down once more before saying, "Come take a bath with me, baby. Please?"

"Nah." He did push up form the counter though and come to stand over her. "I don't wanna."

"You're just gonna stand there and be creepy?"

"Stand here and wait for you to finish. Sure."

"Paul-"

"I'll go out and get you dinner. If you want. And come back."

"Mmmm." Steph's eyes fell a bit as she thought. "Nothing heavy, okay?"

"Course not." Grinning, Paul said, "No beer or anything either? Babe?"

"Ugh. Never again."

"Don't believe that, but whatever makes you feel better." He stood there still, for a moment before saying, "You brush your teeth today?"

"Rude." Tilting her head up to stare at him, she asked, "Why?"

But she knew, because he was leaning over, using a hand to brace himself against the side of the tub so that he could press a kiss to her lips. And Steph tried hard to pretend that his question had annoyed her but it was rough when any time he was cute (or rude or mean or a jerk or nice or sweet or even just breathing, honestly) brought a blush to her cheeks. Not to mention a bit of a giggle as his hair fell down and a few strands landed in the water.

Still staring up at him, she whispered, "I am sorry I ruined today."

She got another kiss before he straightened. "It's okay. Tomorrow's our last day and it's going to be fucking _great_." Reaching down, he tapped her chin as he added, "And tonight's going to be fucking great to. Emphasis on a complete other word-"

"According to you, you already had your great night."

"That was a great afternoon, babe."

"Mmm."

"And those women had nothin' on you. Or wouldn't. Or whatever."

"Or whatever."

He was heading back out of the bathroom then, off to get her something to eat, but did call over his shoulder, "I love you."

Steph giggled again and it sounded so much better to his ears, when she was sober. "Love you too."

* * *

 **I know I've been a bit late doing requests and shit recently, but hopefully that's all over now. This was a request for some honeymoon stuff and, actually, I'd already had this idea and never gotten around to it, so it was a pretty good excuse to just do it.**


End file.
